I slept in this morning, no, really. It wasn’t storming, I wasn’t ill, not feeling particularly lazy or tired, but I simply slept in this morning, March 1, 2017 for the 1st time since September 4, 2016.
You see, I’ve got this terminal American Dream Spirit of the Wild thang goin’ on, and I am addicted to the self-evident truth of life, liberty and my pursuit of happiness.
Call me weird but that’s my personal battle cry and I’m sticking with it, thank you.
I have managed my American Dream for a very, very long time to maximize my ultimate rock-n-roll dreams and hunting dreams to the point where I literally rock every day and hunt every day. Well, maybe not every day, but darn close.
Even when I am on tour where I rockout six nights a week or more all summer long, most of the time I am hubbing either out of my Texas ranch or my Michigan swamp cabin where I am able to hunt, fish and or trap nearly every day to some degree.
I was in a Primos Double Bull ground blind last night on February 28 with my Mathews bow for the final evening of the Texas 2016/17whitetail season right up to the very last fading dusk, and like the vast majority of bowhunting excursions, I once again got skunked.
But as I sat there intensely scanning my ambush zone, I had to contain myself as my mind swirled with pulsating memories and visions of another mesmerizing long season of truly phenomenal wildlife and life experiences.
I literally giggled slightly replaying that miracle 55 yard shot on a dandy buck in my Michigan forest.
There was that big, old, escape artist swamp donkey doe that was a walking, breathing, snorting, blowing, stomping, guitar-player hating defense radar machine that I made a lucky 35 yard heartshot on after she tortured me for hours.
My annual hunts with my wife, kids and grandkids provide a virtual tsunami of spiritual fulfillment and gratitude. Their smiles and laughter bring me life itself.
There are those sacred campfires with sick children and wounded heroes of the US Military that words cannot adequately describe but that glow and burn forever in my mind and spirit.
I can close my eyes anytime I wish and relive every soul stirring moment, arrow, sunrise, sunset, birdsong, critter encounter and jam packed joyful intensity that every moment afield provides me.
Though I do some sort of hunting all year long, my official hunting calendar goes from March 1 to March 1 every year as I kick off the spring turkey season, fish up a storm for delicious, ultra-fun panfish for the table, keep after the hogs, exotics, furbearers, varmints, squirrels, woodchucks, pick up a few sheds, snatch some wild mushrooms, asparagus, leeks and scallions, then transition into the always thrilling spring bear season.
Soon it is time to plant those summer foodplots as I continue my various outdoor adventures through the summer rock-n-roll season. Then, before you know it, I pretty much come unglued when September rolls around for the kick-off of another cherished big game season.
Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness in all its American glory is a beautiful thang!
Without failing to fulfill my primary responsibilities to God, family and country, I am able to pack in a mighty exciting yearly agenda of ultra-FUN, SPORT, MEAT and TROPHY outdoor adventure excitement all these 68 plus outrageous years later.
Though some claim that the kill is anti-climactic, I could not disagree more, for that moment of truth surely is the ultimate nerve rattling, heart slamming climax to a lifelong dedication of being the absolute best reasoning predator we can be.
But it is true that the kill itself is no more than a fleeting moment, whereas all the prolonged necessary dedication and efforts leading up to it best define what hunting is all about.
The kill is but a blink of the eye, while the hunt is forever.
As we cook up our hard-earned venison prize each day, I literally smile like a Cheshire cat at the meat sizzling on the grill or in the pan, each sizzle bringing forth a flood of beyond joyful memories and imagery of what it takes to earn this chunk of sacred protein.
With each bite and chew, the beast enters my body and soul, culminating the circle of life and bringing that life back to me so I can celebrate liberty and pursue my happiness.
Hunt, live, kill and grill like you mean it my friends. Never lose sight of the big picture as we perform our scientific, moral, intellectual and spiritual obligation to God’s miraculous creation.
Make a note my BloodBrothers; October 1st 2017 falls on a Sunday, and November 1st and November 15 on Wednesday. Just sayin’!
Email Ted Nugent at
Email Ted Nugent at [email protected]